Spontaneity
by valbino
Summary: FemshepxGarrus. Shepard gets drunk and has a few stories to tell. Garrus listens. Oneshot, Post Suicide mission.


AN: I ship Garrus/FemShep so hard you don't even know. Was shooting for an odd mix of angst, humor, and hurt/comfort. First attempt at writing these particular characters. Obviously my particular FemShep. Prefer Joan to Jane. Paragon, Infiltrator. Not too sure on the ending.

Any and all feedback is appreciated :)

000

Garrus stood in the elevator, trying to work out his exact reasons for trying out, as one of the videos Mordin sent him phrased it, "being spontaneous". Humans found it titillating and romantic. Certainly, the tiebreaker in a mostly-forgotten comrade's quarters was titillating in its own way, but…romantic? A scoff echoed in the metal chamber.

He looked at the glass bottle of alcohol in his hand, a direct-from-Earth special order. Vodka. Fairly safe to drink for dextro and levo species (if alcohol poisoning was "safe"). Most drinks were not stored in glass; glass was fragile, not truly protective, but made for a nice display. Sometimes more human-frequented clubs had a selection of multi-colored bottles out for show.

The elevator door slid open once it reached the loft. He hesitated. Shepard had given him the codes to unlock it as a gesture of friendship once he had settled in the forward battery. He glanced down at the vodka again, catching a glimpse of the scar on his face in the reflection. Angry, red, clashing with the cool colors that pervaded the ship.

As the codes were accepted and the door opened, as Garrus tentatively stepped past the threshold, the bottle slid from between his fingers and broke when it hit the floor.

Shepard's pale hand was hanging off the end of the couch. There was a small glass, half-filled with ale; he could smell it from his position. An empty, open, modern storage bottle was carelessly strewn on the floor.

"Garrus…? Is that you?" Her voice wavered.

"If I've come at a bad time…"

"No." She sat up suddenly, red hair starting to fall out of its bun, eyes wide with alarm. "Stay."

"All right." He glanced at her desk, anywhere but those eyes, sad and scared. That was not characteristic of her. The drink he had bought her for that night, before going through the Omega-4 relay, she hadn't touched it since. It wasn't even opened, judging from the seal.

Shepard stood up, swayed, and staggered over to him. He saw now that her casual outfit, a sleek black-and-white pants suit, was askew. The fastening had come loose. She was not wearing any shoes.

"Garrus…I." Her hand grabbed at his arm. She pulled him to the couch and they sat down together. "I've been thinking. About Virmire."

"About Lieutenant Alenko." He had talked with Ashley Williams once about Kaidan, knew that some light flirting had occurred between them. An involuntary shot of pain had gone through his chest when she told him. He understood what it was, now.

"How could I have just…left him to die?"

"It's been two years."

"Only been a few months, far as I'm concerned." She stood up again, letting more hair fall loose. "There had to be a way to save him."

"There was…nothing anybody could have done. We both know that."

"Nothing? Nothing at all? Wrex or…or Liara…their biotics. Make a barrier, put him into stasis. Something."

"Wrex could have survived down there, I bet. Heh." Garrus felt awkward again. Unsure. Shepard rarely got drunk like this; the one time she had forced down ryncol on the Citadel was almost on a dare, a whim.

But the look Shepard gave him at that remark made the next joke die in his throat.

"All right. That was a low blow, even for me." He raised his hands in mock surrender.

"I never formed attachments with other Alliance members if I could help it. Except the first time. A vanguard. He got killed during a shakedown, a kinetic barrier malfunction." She flopped back onto the couch. "We graduated from N7 together, shared a bed…It was…perfect."

Garrus touched her shoulder, feeling even more lost, almost voyeuristic. Guilty. These memories were not his affair, should not have been given to him. Not like this.

"So, when I heard the news…I shut off for awhile. I took the most dangerous assignments. You ever talk with Thane? He can explain it better. I threw myself into it, didn't care if my cloak dropped while I was out of cover. Better than sitting around with my tail tucked under my ass."

The glass was slammed onto the table. It cracked enough to leak. She didn't notice.

"Anyway, Kaidan and I flirted a bit. Nothing serious. Typical off-duty stuff." She turned away from him, shoulder lifting as she leaned against the couch's back. "But then…I began to feel something. Didn't know what it was, not really. Maybe it was the lighting."

Garrus let his hand drift along her back absentmindedly, glad that he filed his talons down. It had become safe to touch her without gloves.

"Why did I let him die, Garrus?"

"You're asking rhetorical questions."

Shepard turned her head to look at him after a while. "Why are you even listening to this garbage? You've got better things to do."

"Well…I thought I might try being 'spontaneous'. Have some time to ourselves off-schedule. If you don't want to, that's fine. I understand."

"You don't seem the type to be a shoulder to cry on." A lopsided smile crossed her face.

"I'm always here if you need me." He reconsidered that statement. "Oh, spirits, Shepard, that sounded like a line out of some…bad romance novel. Or _Fleet and Flotilla._"

That got a chuckle out of her. She didn't turn around, instead resting her head against the couch again. "I told you. Call me Joan. Shepard's too formal."

"So that means I can stay."

"Yeah."

He reached up and plucked the pins keeping her hair in place away. "You should really either have it all up or all down." It looked like _fire_ when it was all down, tumbling to her waist.

"And my clothes all on or all off?" She turned around, some of that hair falling over one shoulder. That small smile was there again.

"Maybe. Not yet. I like talking with you, you know."

"Even after all that?"

"We've been through hell and back together and you're worried about a little, you know, sentimentality?" He let himself touch her face, trace the scars there. "I know you better than that."

"Not just that. The whole cross-species whatever."

"You don't really care about that. You _told_ me."

"Udina would."

"You're drunk."

"It's just…what if you end up like Kaidan? Or...?"

"I can't guarantee anything. But I've already lost you once. Almost twice. I'll be damned before that happens again."

He pulled her closer, so their legs touched, a hand on her waist, the other still touching the scars. He didn't understand that much about biological reconstruction, but knew enough to grasp that her face had been ruined beyond all recognition. The scar that trailed from her jaw, two-thirds of the way to her nose was gone. His talon brushed along where it had been.

Shepard peered up at him. "What are you thinking about?"

"That scar, right there. Before you got spaced. How did you get it?"

"Oh. Hah. Yeah. Wrex liked it. I think there's still some of it left. On my scalp. It's larger than just what you saw."

"But…what could have made it? It's usually standard procedure to wear helmets."

"I'm an infiltrator. I wore a visor. Better visibility, had some pretty sweet targeting stuff. I was fresh out of N7, on one of my first missions. On some forest planet."

His talon stopped moving, hovered just above her skin.

"Well, I was cloaked, flanking the band of mercs we were taking out. Then my cloak dropped early. I ducked under a bush. Big mistake. A krogan was hiding there, one of that group. I shot him point-blank with my rifle, but not before he got me, and good, too. Swiped me from the back of my neck to my cheek."

"I'm guessing it took a bit more than medigel to patch that up."

"He knocked out three teeth—Cerberus replaced the Alliance fakes—dislocated my jaw, almost broke my neck."

"Damn."

They were silent, then, looking at each other. Appraising. Studying. His hand strayed to the trim of her dress jacket, absently toyed with the whiteness. It was a thin, rigidly starched fabric. Very little give. It reminded him of…

"Shepard," he said. She glanced up at him, one eyebrow raised. _I told you,_ he almost could hear her reprimanding him. Her first name was still awkward to say.

"If you're still up for it…I am."

"Never said I wasn't." 

She surprised him by unclasping the front of the jacket. There was a tank top beneath it. Unsurprising. But she began to take it off clumsily, fumbling with the sleeves.

"No need to rush."

"It's too hot in here. Kinda wish I hadn't, uhm. Turned EDI off."

"_What_?"

"Tweaked the console a bit." Shepard winked.

That did it for him. Her jacket was pulled off, tossed aside. They managed to tumble to the floor, then stumble to the bed. There was nothing desperate, not really. Talk was nice, but never really made things happen. An action always made up for words never quite reaching to the center of the mind. She wanted this. He wanted this.

And with her forehead pressed to his, flush against him, eyes locked onto each other as their question of lust was answered with sex, he decided not to question what few favors the galaxy had to offer.


End file.
